


A Blank Canvas

by BlackBurden



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Kismesissitude, M/M, Tentabulges, mild bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBurden/pseuds/BlackBurden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're Dave Strider, and you've never found something, or rather, someone, so fascinating. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's that you want more than you think.</p>
<p># I need to get better at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blank Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> Well, let's see ... This is my first time posting a Homestuck fanfic online. Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Also, I have no idea just WHAT kind of mood I was in when I wrote this, but I can confidently say this is among the better things I've written.

You're not sure what to think, really. Usually, your facade stays unmoved, and even now it's so, but you can feel your lips twitching in the beginnings of a smile because heck, you're pretty sure you're drunk.

If you hadn't been through so much, you'd get the sense of 'being naughty and underage drinking', but you feel two times your age. After everything that the game had to dish out, you feel like you sort of deserve this. This is your prize. Getting wasted at one of John's parties and not giving a single fuck.

Your red eyes are half-closed behind the dark lenses of your shades as you stand leaning against the wall, a mostly empty bottle of vodka in your hand. The fingers of your free hand tap in an unknown rhythm against the side of the bottle, which you raise to your lips on the same path it had taken a couple dozen times tonight.

The bitter, burning feeling of the alcohol going down your throat makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, but you remain stoic as ever. John is standing close to you, talking rather loudly to Jade and Karkat. He thinks you're listening.

You are most definitely not. It's not that you don't care, it's just that right now your mind has other things to occupy its frame. Past the shades resting on your nose, your eyes are zoned in on one troll in particular. The only one who isn't high, or drunk, or ... anything, really.

Gamzee.

He'd appeared at the end of the game, seeming normal as always. But you know otherwise. You've seen death, and are quite familiar with it thanks to your alternate selves in doomed timelines, and it's death you see in his eyes. He hides it with a relaxed expression and a lazy smile, and everyone falls for it.

Too bad you've been trained.

It surprises you that he's not drinking, or getting baked. From what you'd heard for years, the guy was always baked. Baked or downright homicidal. You wonder if he's secretly stoned. Maybe that's why he isn't murdering everyone. Again.

Karkat swears up and down that the guy's on a strict diet of that green stuff that is apparently poison to a troll's mind, and he swears he's safe to be around.

You ... are not so sure.

You don't know him well, but there's something in the tall, lanky troll's eyes that makes you shudder. At first you wondered if it was attraction, since you know you're gay. You tell John you're straight because he'd never let you live it down, but you're gayer than a kookaburra. And you're okay with that.

Just as you're about to look away and focus on something else, you see Gamzee's head turn and his eyes lock on your own. A flash of something far too familiar crosses his eyes, but his expression remains neutral and he looks away.

You drink more vodka, tipping your head back as you down the last of the bottle in one go. Sure it's not bright to chug liquor, but fuck it. When you tilt your head back down, you immediately feel the effects of the alcohol as your vision swims and everything seems hazy. It's nice, you decide, but you'll hate it tomorrow.

Moving forms blur and you suddenly feel like you're in slow motion as that tall figure your eyes had been previously glued to suddenly moved. Towards you. You blink, and suddenly he's right in front of you. Damn, you never noticed how much taller than you he is, and you're already a decently tall guy at 5"11'.

"Take a motherfuckin' walk with me, motherfucker." He says in his low, down out tone. If you had been in a more sober state of mind, you'd have paid mind to the red flag that popped up right then, but instead you simply nod lazily and push off the wall, setting your now empty bottle on a nearby table.

The two of you leave the room, and after a moment Gamzee's hand is holding your elbow. Is he guiding you? Whatever. Play it cool. It's no big deal. The guy's safe, right?

You're 'lead' to another location of the house entirely. It's John's study, which has soundproof walls. Why he wanted such a thing, you're not sure. Nor do you really care. The moment the door is shut, you hear the click of Gamzee locking the door and turn to face him.

Claws meet your cheek, and suddenly you're up against the wall, held up but a large hand around your neck. It's half-choking you, making it hard to breathe but not in a dangerous way.

"Whoa man, what the Hell? Cool your jets." You say in a monotone voice, and mentally pat your back for being so steady.

"You got a motherfuckin' problem with me?" Gamzee asked, his voice a dangerous growl. "Your eyes are always fuckin' on me like a motherfuckin' hawk, y'know? It drives me fuckin' crazy, seeing those annoyin'ly red orbs staring into my soul. Y'know how that feels, motherfucker?"

Your very basic instincts are kicking in and your reach up to grasp at his fingers. But he's sober, and has an iron grip. He pulls you away from the wall and then slams you back against it so that your head connects with the wood walls painfully.

"Answer me, motherfuckin' human!" He snarls, his bared teeth so close to your nose that you can feel the air as he breathes out through his nose. Your vision steadies just long enough for you to see Gamzee's face, and you have a hard time admitting to yourself that you, Dave Strider, are scared.

There's something primal in his dark, gray eyes. Something that makes you wish you were sober enough to cleave him in two. But it's also incredibly alluring. That's when you realize he's still waiting for an answer, and you blink out of your trance.

"No."

"I've seen you watchin' me, motherfucker. I ain't no fuckin' fool." Gamzee let go of you so abruptly that your knees buckled and you dropped to the ground in a rather un-Strider-like fashion. The tall troll turned his back.

It was in that moment you noticed that his shoulders were tense, and one hand was clenched in a fist. The purple blood that coursed through his veins clung stubbornly to his fingertips from his claws digging into his palm.

"I'll have you know, motherfucker, that I have been sober for a week."

"What?" You stare. He's sober? Really? According to the other trolls, he was downright dangerous when he was sober. Part of you could already see that, but the other part of you made you chew the inside of your lip.

"That's right, motherfucker. I'm sober. And ... Fuckin' hungry. But do you fucking know something?"

He goes silent then.

"I motherfucking SAID ..." He turns back to you, hand quivering with rage. "Do you fucking know something?"

He's standing over you, eyes burning into yours. You stagger to your feet, a hand on the wall. "What?" You repeat.

"I motherfuckin' know what I'm hungry for." Gamzee moves closer in the time it takes you to blink. Shit, everything's swimming again. "I'm hungry ... for you, motherfucker."

"Excuse me?"

You'd never heard such bullshit in your life, and your brain was too scattered from the alcohol in your system to think of a clever response. In the next instant, you find yourself pressed against the wall, strong hands holding your wrists to the wood in a firm grip.

"I look at your scrawny fucking face, see those eyes that I motherfuckin' hate so much, hear your disgustingly flat voice, and I just fucking WANT it. I want you." Gamzee's face is close to yours, his gaze set into a glare as you're practically nose to nose.

You chuckle, seeing double of him. "Do ya now? Well, what if I say ya can't have me?" You curse as you realize your Texan accent you try so hard to hide is showing through. His lips twitch a bit.

"You don't have a motherfuckin' say, my brother."

You can't protest as you suddenly find his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss. Your eyes are half-lidded and fall shut after a moment as you simply accept it. It's not like you to give in to shit like this, but fuck, you're drunk and you can't deny you've been craving this attention. Not from Gamzee of all trolls, but from anyone.

So you kiss back with as much ferocity as your fuzzy mind can muster up. He's growling low in his throat as you feel his claws against the already stinging side of your face. They drag down, drawing more of your life from your body.

You groan, even though it hurts, because you're so lost that it's a pleasant feeling. The claws move to your shoulder, and it's only then that you realize one of your arms are now free and you reach up.

The locks of his wild, black hair are surprisingly soft under your fingers as they travel through. You tug a little, making him snarl viciously and drag his claws down your chest, tearing both fabric and skin.

You gasp and hiss in pain, and Gamzee takes the opportunity to let his tongue invade your mouth. You try to fight back, but it feels like he's moving three times your speed. But you're a Strider, and you don't give up. You go down fighting. Literally.

One second you're liplocked with the troll, the next you're on the floor on your belly, Gamzee with a tight a grasp on your hair and pushing your face painfully against the floorboards.

"Ow, fuck!" You growl as he squeezes your hip hard enough you're sure it'll bruise. Gamzee grunts.

"Not supposed to feel nice, motherfucker. We're black for each other. It's all about the fucking hate."

You groan at the thought of the troll romance system. Quadrants. Karkat had given you the lecture, but you can't mix and match his words now, with your hazy mind.

"Who gave you the right to tell me how I feel? Fuck, who died and made you King?"

Your clever response earns you a slap on the ass, and you yelp.

"Watch it!" You snap at him.

He lifts your head by the hair, and you shiver as he's suddenly breathing in your ear. "I make the motherfuckin' calls here, Dave. So you better watch your fuckin' tone and learn your place." You weren't expecting it, so when he drops your head your chin collides with the ground and your teeth rattle.

"Fuck you."

"That's the motherfuckin' spirit, my brother."

You go to make some retort and growl at him about dropping your head, but instead you yelp as your shirt is torn further, and the shredded article of clothing scatters around you with one swipe of the troll's hand.

"Your skin is so motherfuckin' pale and soft ..." Gamzee's voice is softer than you thought it'd be, but the dark tone makes you shiver. "Let's ... add a little motherfuckin' color to it."

He leans over you, straddling your hips, and you feel him breathe against your shoulder seconds before he sinks his sharp teeth down. For the record, you didn't cry out, or even yelp. All that comes from you is a strangled gasp and a barely there 'oh fuck'.

Gamzee growls in a feral way, keeping his teeth secured in your flesh. When he lets you go, you find yourself slumping against the cold floor, and the remains of your shirt.

"Not so wordy now, are you, motherfucker?" Gamzee chuckles and you feel his fingertips touch the fresh bite wound, then trail down across your back, smearing your blood.

"Damn, my brother, you make a motherfuckin' wondrous canvas."

You scoff, but go quiet as he leans close again, breathing against your un-marked shoulder. You tense, expecting another flash of searing pain. But you're so focused on the other's hot breath against your skin that you don't notice his other hand moving down until he's tugging your pants off.

"Hey hey hey!" You growl, squirming to stop him. "You first-AH!" You yelp as he bites you then, snarling. You get it. He was waiting for you to fight back so it would surprise you.

When he releases your shoulder, he hisses into your ear. "I said I makes the calls, motherfucker! Which means you lie there and take it like a fucking bitch."

Part of you wants to rebel, but your throbbing shoulders keep you still. He huffs when you don't respond, but lets you stay quiet. In a few moments, you're lying completely naked under the troll, the taller having removed both your jeans and boxers.

"Gamzee." You breathe, trying to roll over to look at him. He slams his hand to your back, keeping you down.

"You don't get to face me, motherfucker. That isn't your fucking place."

You shiver, and wonder when you obtained a fetish for being a sex slave. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Gamzee's hand leaves your back but you don't try to move again. He shifts a bit above you, and for a moment his presence disappears completely. You're about to twist around to see when all of a sudden you feel skin on skin contact.

You flush as you realize he's naked, and sitting on your legs.

Without much of a warning, Gamzee shifts and you can suddenly feel something warm and very wet against your ass. You freeze and lift your head to look back, but Gamzee slams it back down to the ground.

"What did I motherfuckin' say, Dave?"

You growl in response but go limp. Your curiosity burns like a coal straight from a fire when you feel that wet thing MOVING against you. Just what the fuck did trolls even HAVE for reproductive organs?

After a moment, Gamzee grabs your hips and lifts them, forcing you onto your knees with your legs spread. You grunt, about to make a snide remark, but instead a completely different sound escapes your lips as you are penetrated.

There's no pain, and it surprises you as you can feel the squirming, moving THING pushing further and further inside of you. And just like that, Gamzee's groin is pressed against your ass.

A small sound leaves you in an exhale and you realize the troll doesn't even have to 'thrust', per say. Whatever is inside of you, you think they call it a 'bone bulge', is twisting and squirming, and it feels fucking fantastic.

Until you feel Gamzee's claws run down both of your sides and draw blood at your hips. You hiss but the sound breaks off into a loud, embarrassing moan as Gamzee's bulge hit what you guess is your prostate.

"Ah fuuuck ..." You moan.

Gamzee leans over you, and you curse the fact he's taller than you as his teeth once again sink into your shoulders, over and over. He's purposely trying to make this painful for you. That dick.

Despite that, you're fucking loving it.

Deep down you feel guilty for it, but you shove that aside to focus on later.

It's getting harder to cling to consciousness.

Your breath is shaky as one of Gamzee's hands move from your now bloody hips. When you feel it again, you moan as it's wrapped around your own, neglected dick.

"Gamzee, FUCK!" You gasp, and as if he knows what to do, he starts to move it up and down against you. You quickly find yourself closer to the edge than you'd like to be, and you realize you're shaking.

Gamzee's free hand leaves your other hip and tangles in your hair again, lifting your head back. Your mouth is open a bit, lips parted and panting a bit as he breathes in your ear again.

"Scream for me, motherfucker."

For some reason you will later contemplate, that drives you over and white hot pleasure seers through you. You're not sure if you screamed or not, and you're not even sure when the pleasure stopped, because suddenly everything was dark.

\---

You groan, rolling onto your side and wincing in pain. "Ow, fuck ..." Your head is throbbing with a hangover, and you cover your eyes against the harsh sunlight of late morning.

You taste blood, and it's then that you recall what you did. And who you did it with.

You sigh a little.

Suddenly, something sharp pricks your arm and you jump, hissing as you feel some of the wounds on your hips re-open from the action. You look up, glaring, and find a certain tall, lanky troll looking at you with calm eyes.

When the fuck did Gamzee get in your room? He must have brought you home last night, and cleaned you up and put you to bed. Jee, that was nice of him.

There's a new look in the other's eyes, a new light, and you realize after a moment what it is. Love, though black, and respect.

You say nothing, and the two of you stare at each other before suddenly Gamzee's holding a little white bottle out to you. You huff and take the offered bottle, popping it open and dumping two little white pills into your palm.

Dry-swallowing almost failz since your mouth was so dry, but you force them down. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, motherfucker." Gamzee chuckles a bit, then ruffles your already messy hair and gives your head a shove, resulting in a wave of pain to wash over you.

"OW, FUCK!" You yell at him. "Hangover, you dick!"

"Yeah yeah, love you too, my black motherfucking lover."


End file.
